Playing with fire
by Crazme11
Summary: Ryou is not as innocent as it seems,and Malik find that out in a rather disturbing way,but will things end good for Ryou? Or will Malik run away from him? There is only one way to find out.


I've never come off to anyone as being strange. I mean, I know my appearance is quite strange. Not many boys out there with hair colour somewhere in between white and grey. It's a

bit lenghty as well, making me appear like a girl, which is not helped by my slender frame. Aside from that, nobody knows about my yami as well. They don't know about the psychotic,

sado-masochistic, blood thirsty, self-mutilating, maniacally laughing, homicidal ancient spirt that lives inside of me. I'm sure if they did, all those giggling girls, who for some bizarre reason

think I'm straight, would avoid me at all costs and not collect around me during school, crooning over how pretty my hair is. All that is besides the point. I just tend to get off topic when

I'm nervous. The reason for this is standing a couple of feet away from me, leaning against my kitchen counter, sipping on a mug of rich, black coffee. Has anyone ever really noticed how

this guy drinks his coffee? This guy, of course, being Malik. He grips the mug tightly with one hand on the handle, holding it with those strong yet delicate hands. Yes, his hands could be

strong yet delicate. The boy is a walking oxymoron. Effiminate yet masculine. Dark yet pure. Dangerous yet innocent.

Back to his coffee drinking. It's just the way that he slowly brings the mug to his lips, dipping his head partially back to let the warm, rich liquid pour freely into his throat. It's so sensual.

Well, everything he does just sais 'sex, Sex, SEx, SEX'. He tips his head forward again, gently placing the mug on the table, and here's the part that always gets to me. He swipes his

tongue out in a fluid motion, running it against his upper lip then sliding it over his bottom lip as well, like a contented cat who just feasted hungrily on a bird. The whole process takes

about 3 seconds to complete, but to me, it plays in slow motion and for those few seconds, I'm completely frozen, eyes glued to what could be deemed the 8th wonder of the world. As

you can tell, I'm just the slightest obsessed. You would be too if you had to share breathing space with Malik. I guess, everyone is wondering what an 'innocent' boy like me is doing

lusting after someone like him? We're completely different, we barely know each other, and some think he's incredibly insane.

Well, there is the physical factor. It's hard not to see how incredibly hot he is. His body is slim, borderline skinny, but muscular. His arms and legs are wiry and powerful, the outlines of his

veins visible on the tight skin. His skin tone is the perfect shade of smooth mocha, no scars, no wrinkles, not a single mark on it. Completely flawless. I've felt it in for a brief moment in the

past, lightly grazing my fingers over it as we brushed up against each other. It's as soft and silky as it looks, almost like a brown rich creamy sensation. I've often wondered what it would

taste like, my mind producing the idea that it would taste like strong Columbian coffee or cappucino tinged with something incredibly obscure and exotic like coconuts and pine apple. I

haven't even gotten into his hair, yet. I've never felt anything more soft in my life. It's limp and straight but silky with the most unusual colour. It's like a sun-kissed blonde, bleached from

years spent in the blistering desert sun. His exotic appeal is further maximized by his purple eyes, ranging from a torrential dark violet to the clearest lavendar depending on his mood.

The reason for my deep seeded attraction goes so much more than his body. Ever take one look at a person and just feel so right, so good, so complete. That's how it is everytime I look

at him. Even when he was terrorizing my friends and being an evil jerk, I couldn't bring myself to hate him or want to hurt him. The only thing I wanted to do was comfort him, put my arms

around his neck and give him a warm hug, never parting from those strong arms. I sympathized with him. He was just a tortured soul, lost and confused, given the wrong idea. He had

been born into a closed off world, sealed away from humanity only to be shoved outside without a friend and build himself up from nothing. He has a good, pure heart that only I could

see. The world chooses to ignore it or see this one dimensional dark being. I see this young child in him, scared and alone, crying out for love. I wanted to give it to him. I wanted to

comfort him and tell him how much I cared, make him feel like the special person he is. However, I was afraid. Deftly afraid. I was afraid to be rejected, hurt, ignored, laughed at. My fear

diminishes the more I get to know him, the more I realize he's actually an incredibly sweet guy. It's just the way he's actually quite polite, very kind, says the most unbelievably nice things

at just the right moments. I just want to glomp him and go 'aww'!

It's at this moment, I suddenly remember I'm not alone, or atleast I wasn't. I glance around, knowing Malik should be in the room, sipping his coffee, but at some point during my inner

monologue, which should be named 'Unnecessarily useless list of why I'm crazy about a certain psychotic yet lovable Egyptian', he had walked out. I mildy wondered if I had been staring

like some drooling animal, eyes blank and hands just twitching to touch that delicious body. Then, I sigh in disappointment, afraid he had decided to go home since Bakura wasn't around

to entertain him.

I often wondered about their relationship. I know they're not dating. That's easy to see with the amount of fights they get into, and their savagely rough treatment of each other. They're

not, and this is hard for me to say, fucking around. I've always been rather squeamish of that word, but that's beside the point. My yami would have definitely told me. He tells me all the

grueling details concerning anything and everything sexual. From what I gather, although he would be more than eager to ...fuck...Malik at a moment's notice, he is very aware of my own

attraction to him. Yes, you heard me right. My yami did something 'nice'. Another giant misconception Yugi-tachi has. Sure, Bakura's not the image of innocence and kindess, but he's not

the cruel, inhumane, abusive bastard everyone thinks he is. Well, okay he's not those things to me. He's more like an older brother-bossy, annoying, but he means well. He often teases

me about my 'crush', if you will, on Malik, but I for some bizarre reason, trust that he hasn't told said Egyptian about said 'crush' on him. I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps I am the crazy

one. Once again, I have completely diverted myself from my principle thought and have forgotten the point, which is I am bereft of Malik. I pout to absolutely no one in the room and stand

up sourly, intent on taking a nap and entertaining myself with a replay of Malik drinking coffee, followed by Malik working on his motorcycle, and a side of Malik eating an apple. {Very

delicious site, I promise you.} I must have a million memories of all these little things he does that he has no idea are incredibly sexy.

I stop short on my way to my bedroom via living room and spot something to add to my list of sexy Malik things. I find him dead asleep on my couch, laying on his back, his feet propped

up on the arm of the couch and one hand gingerly hanging down. It is, dare I say, the most adorable thing I've ever seen. I can't help but approach him, in favour of wanting to get a

closer look at this interesting turn of events. I have never seen Malik sleep in all the time that I have known him. He is always alert on guard, rarely relaxed or loose. Yet, there he is,

passed out in such a tranquil positon. His lips are parted just barely, letting out soft breaths as he is lost within whatever dreams floating through his mind. I know he's dreaming, I could

see his eyelids twitching just barely, and it intrigues me. I can't help but hope I'm the one he's thinking about. I lean in just the slighest closer, wondering if he really is in a deep sleep, or

if he'll snap awake with any sudden movement. I wave my hand in front of his eyes, testing the water, making sure he's not about to snap awake and demand why I'm studying him like

some sort of lab specimen.

He makes no movement, not even the slightest shifting around. He must be really tired. I want to go 'aww' again. I can't possibly imagine what's kept him up for so long. I slowly approach

him, suddenly aware I'm standing next to him, my feet nailed to the ground, unable to resist the close proximity of his body. I've always been drawned to him as if by a bizarre trance. Just

something about the warmth and feel of his body. My skin just tingles at the thought. I remember that rare occurence where he actually hugged me to thank me for, I believe, making him

some dinner. He was so excited he threw his arms around me, pressing his body close against mine. Needless to say, I was instanty aroused and found myself making some lame excuse

to retreat before I started to desperately rub up against him. I snap out of the sweet memory, and I stare at his lips. I'm drawn to them.

They look so soft, so supple, slightly open, the slightest breathing noises coming from it. I suddenly want to press my own to them, feel what I have dreamt of for so long. I lean in close,

yet again, dangerously close. I study its colours, only a shade softer than his dark skin, with a hint of pale pink. They look so delicate, opened barely in invitation, calling me to just steal

one kiss from him. Would it really hurt? I stop myself before I even do anything. I could wake him up. I mean, sure, he looks dead at the moment, but what if he wakes up to find me

kissing him. Will he be disgusted? Will he push me away? Will he hurt me? Why am I thinking about this? Many horrible things have come as a result of over analyzing the situation, which

I appear to be doing at the moment. So, just kiss him, you idiot. What would he taste like? That interesting blend of coffee and fruits? Only one way to find out, right? Before I can stop

myself, I'm leaning in all the way, my eyes close, my own lips parted. I'm so close I can feel his warm breath tickling my skin. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, drawing me closer.

I move towards the heat, unable to resist. My mind is so hazy, I can barely register what I am doing. My thought patterns always deter whenever I'm around him, and I find himself unable

to think straight. Then again, how straight can gay guys think?

All thought has officialy fled my mind as I inch towards him, my lips making just the slightest contact over his. It's a mere brush of our mouths, but I feel a jolt of electricity strike every

nerve in my body. I reluctantly pull away, unable to kiss him harder, lest I wake him up and have to explain what I'm doing. Yeah, that'll go really well. 'What the hell are you doing Ryou?'

'Uh...I tripped and landed on your lips?' I sigh and pull away quickly, my lips tingling delightedly from the small kiss. I resist the urge to grin stupidly, but I know my body is far ahead of me,

and all the blood is rushing from my head downward.

I take a few minutes to stand their awkwardly, unfamiliar with what I'm supposed to do now. Not every day I kiss a former homicidal maniac while he's asleep. I realize he's still quite

unguarded and very unaware, so I take my time to engage in one of my favourite hobbies: staring motionlessly at Malik's body and drooling over said body, then going up to bed and

fantasizing about said body, finishing off with well...I'm a teenage boy, you figure it out. Like I said, I'm not as innocent as people think I am. My eyes slowly rake over his figure, drinking

in every inch of his body with greed. How could anyone be so perfect looking? Models, actors, even porn stars pay millions of dollars to look like this, and he was just born this way. My

gaze is fixated on the top of his shirt. One of the chains have come undone, so it is partially opened, inches of silky tanned skin exposed for my gawking.

My fingers develop this strange itch. They want to stroke that exposed part of his chest, see if it's really as smooth as the rest of his body. Well, I already kissed him. Why not grope him in

his sleep, as well? I think I need to get more sleep. My mind is starting to make me act strangely. Perhaps it's just teenage hormones, lack of a love/sex life, and stress. I shake my head

out of those unusual thoughts, but it's hard to ignore that bizarre urge to touch him. Not only touch him but feel him, caress him, pet him. Oh dear, I really have lost it.

Knowing myself, I won't be able to sleep or function normally until I have gotten it out of my system, so I reach over slowly, my fingers shaking from what I'm about to do. I tentatively run

my fingertips over his skin, delighting in how smooth it is. It has that feel of creamy peanut butter, but not as sticky. I really should stop comparing every part of his body to food. It's

making me hungry. I know I should pull my fingers away now rather than running them in the slow, circular motion I seem to be doing at the moment. I can't help it. I'm so addicted to him,

and I love the way his skin feels. He should do commercials for cosmetic products, but then again, I don't want to share him with the world of brain dead, giggling girls and fashion

conscious men. I sigh in disappointment, realizing this touching him in his sleep has gone on long enough. I decide to pull my fingers away when, to my wonderful misfortune, I realize my

sweater is caught on the undone chain. I know I shouldn't panic since that's incredibly useless in any situation, but I can't help it. My damn sweater is tangled up in the chain of his

shirt and refuses to come off. I quickly start tugging at my sweater, trying to get it free, but that only results in lose strands of cotton twining around the stupid chain until I'm effectively

trapped. I resist the urge to groan, tug, or pull for fear of waking him up. There is absolutely know reasonable explanation for this. I wouldn't even be able to think of what to say. 'Hey,

sorry Malik. I was just sexually harassing you in your sleep when my sweater got caught. Oh, please don't take that wrong way.' Yep, to quote Bakura, 'I'm officially fucked.'

I take a deep breath, trying to relax and calm myself down. Maybe if I slip out of my sweater-no, he would wonder why my sweater is attatched to his shirt. Maybe if I pull-no, I don't want

to ruin or break his shirt. I think it's his favourite. He always has it on. Maybe because he likes to show off his very nice abs. Maybe he's just incredibly unaware of how hot he looks with it

on, and how everyone likes to stare at him with it on. Maybe I just said maybe far too many times in the last few seconds. While I once again got completely lost in my inner monologue,

Malik decides to turn over on his side with a soft groan, my hand caught underneath his body. I believe the metaphorical poop has hit the metaphorical fan. A soft, pathetic whimper

leaves the back of my throat, and I'm mildly surprised he hasn't woken up yet. Now, I'm definitely panicking, praying he doesn't wake up to find my hand on his body. I don't know what to

do. My mind is spinning too fast, and I'm desperately finding some sort of solution. The room is spinning now, I can barely keep standing, and I'm afraid I'm going to faint. I take another

breath to calm myself, hoping, no praying that Malik is asleep enough that I can pull out in one quick motion. It would destroy my sweater, but I must make the small sacrifice for the sake

of keeping my arm. Besides, I have 10 more sweaters like this. I mentally and physically prepare myself to pull my hand away when soft murmurs fall from his lip, and he shifts around,

looking quite uncomfortable.

Once again, my mind shuts down, and I resist the urge to go 'aww' really loudly. He looks so adorable and so childlike. My head is tilted, watching him in rapt fascination, my body frozen,

my eyes glued to his frame. He's still breathing at the same gentle pace, looking quite peaceful. I'm so afraid to jar him awake. It seems as if he needs this nice nap. I sigh deeply, keeping

my hand where it is for the time being as my eyes drift on their own volition, stopping at the few inches of skin between his shirt and his pants where his well-sculpted abs peek through.

I have to admit, that's one of my more favourite parts of his body. So, I, like the currenly brain dead idiot I am, decide to reach out and run my hand over his abs, feeling the rock hard,

tight skin. It feels so good, so unbelievably yummy. I want to nibble on him, but I know THAT is definitely out of the question. Then again, I've been doing a lot of really uncharacteristic

things today. My hand is still roaming over his abs amusedly, feeling the tough yet still creamy skin. I can't help continuing to caress him, knowing he could awake up any second, but the

thrill is calling out to me. I don't believe I've ever done anything this exciting in my life.

Distracted by my thoughts, my hand is unconsciously drifting lower, my fingers lightly grazing under the waistband of his pants. My curiosity is piqued. I've never seen him naked, although

I have fantasized about it several times. I've always wondered what everything below his waist looked like. I even wondered how big and how long 'it' was. Of course, my mind is quite

generous in supplying him with a very nice shape. I just want to confirm my suspiscions. I try to stop myself, I really do, but my hand doesn't listen. It just moves lower, briefly registering

Malik's complete lack of underwear. I bite my lower lip, my heart beating wildly in my chest as I move lower, my fingers brushing over his still completely smooth skin, wondering if he

shaved the hair that should be there, or if he just never had any to begin with. I don't contemplate this any further because I'm simply not thinking logically. Here I am, one hand

underneath his chest, the other one far down his pants, and he could wake up any second. Do I stop? Nope.

My fingers lightly brush over his length, feeling it just barely. I freeze in shock as a soft moan falls from his lips, and he shifts around, his body pressing up against my fingers. Is he

enjoying this? I can't tell. His face is still completely peaceful and far into his sleep. I continue with my pursuit, gently moving my hand up and down, stroking his shaft, watching it come to

life and harden underneath my fingers. Another moan erupts from his slumbering body, but he shows no signs of waking. I debate whether to stop or continue, knowing I couldn't really

pull away if I wanted to. So, with a deep breath, I continue to rub him delicately, trying to bring him pleasure, hoping he's enjoying this even if he his asleep and probably dreaming about

someone else. He shifts again, squirming around, trying to move towards my fingers, his body communicating his need for more contact. I swallow the giant lump in my throat and pull my

fingers out momentarily to slowly undo his button and pull down his zipper to free the definite arousal that has developed from my ministrations. I am suddenly confronted with the fact of

that I'm about to, and I'm also squeamish about saying this, jack off the former murderous boy who I am deeply attracted to, who tried to kill my friends, and who is currently asleep on

my couch. I have officially lost whatever sanity I possessed.

I chew the heck out of my lower lip, wearing it out as my eyes are fixated on his erection, feeling one of my own start to develop in my pants. My mouth is dry as I realize my dreams didn't

exactly do him justice, and I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to have that, well, HIM inside of me. I shrug off these thoughts, focusing on the personal task at hand as once

again, my fingers are lightly stroking him, eliciting another sweet moan from his lips. He doesn't resist nor does he stir. He definitely likes this. I mentally congratulate myself and speed up

my strokes, feeling him twitch in my hand.

He's breathing harder now, his hips bucking towards my hand as I gently wrap my fingers around his pulsating organ, shifting my eyes from it to his face repeatedly, praying he doesn't

awaken any time soon. He doesn't appear to be anywhere close to waking up, anyways. Sure, he's squirming a bit, but then again, he looks to be caught in rapture, his fingers tightening

around the couch cushion as he starts rubbing back against my hand while groaning barely audibly. I am more than willing to continue, ignoring my own tight pants for the sake of

providing him with optimum pleasure. I find myself jerking him, pumping him firmly, letting the delightful purring and moaning sounds encourage me onwards.

My thumb is swirling slowly over the tip, my eyes locked on his face, noting every little facial expression he makes, deciding those are going on my list of sexy Malik things. His body is

twisting and tensing up as he squeezes the couch cushion beneath his fingers. I'm watching him intently, caught in between mind numbing fear and my own blissful desire. Gods, he looks

so beautiful when he's panting and wiggling around, very close to release. It urges me to keep going. It's not like I have a choice now, and I can't leave him unsatisfied. I'm stroking him

harder, finding my own breathing becoming laboured as I roughly jerk him, losing the last whispers of control that I had. His brows knit, and his body stiffens as he finally comes into my

hand with a startled cry, his fingers clutching the couch.

He then shudders, feeling what I can only predict as an orgasm, a long moan erupting from the back of his throat. I'm stuck to the ground, completely still, the world disappearing around

me as all I can do is stare at the new 8th wonder of the world. I feel warm liquid slide down my own inner thighs, but I'm too caught up in Malik to notice or even care. Am I even

moaning? Moving? How long have I been frozen? I don't know, but I do see him calm down and drift back into his peaceful sleep.

Reality comes crashing down around me, and I resist the urge to cry out or dart for my bedroom door, locking myself in for the rest of eternity. I just...I...FUCK! What did I just do! I yank

my hand away from his wilted organ, stuffing it back in his pants, zipping and buttoning him up with lightening quick speed. My other hand frees itself from underneath him in one sudden

motion, and I find myself sprawled on the floor from the action of pulling my hand free. My sweater is a bit tattered at the sleeve, but I don't even notice, my gaze now fixated on the wet

spot in front of my pants. Oh dear, what have I done! I've never ran so fast in my life, but I just darted up the stairs in a fury, making a dash for my room and slamming the door, making

sure to lock it.

My mind is moving a mile a minute now as I shove my pants and underwear off, tossing them aside in a frenzy, grabbing a fresh pair. I groan as I remember there's still sticky fluid in my

hands, and I wipe it off on my old pants even though a part of me, that horny, raunchy part of me that had taken over a few minutes ago, really wanted to lick it off and see what he

tastes like. I ignore those thoughts, focused on washing my clothes and trying not to feel guilty about getting Malik off in his sleep. Why did I do that! What's wrong with me! Why didn't I

stop myself! Okay, calm down. I doubt he'll notice. I didn't leave evidence behind...aside from that piece of my sweater...oh no! What if he remembers! What if he makes the connection?

I'm so dead. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! I'm banging my head against the wall, cursing myself out some more. How'd did I let myself get carried away? Then, I stop. I completely stop. I realize

something very, VERY crucial that I should have noticed a long time ago. Malik was drinking COFFEE in the kitchen. Not just any coffee, caffeinated coffee! As in coffee with CAFFEINE!

Caffeine keeps people up. It makes them alert and active. With the amount Malik drank, there is no way in hell he could have been dead asleep. I blanche as realization dawns on me.

How did I not notice this before! It's not long before my feet are carrying me out the door in blind panic, needing some sort of proof that Malik is still quietly asleep, and I'm just being

paranoid. Please tell me he was asleep the whole time. Oh gods, what if he wasn't! I run down the stairs and resist the urge to shriek when I find the couch empty. Bare! No Malik! I'm

questioning my wavering sanity, wondering if what just happened, even happened at all. There's not a sound in the house, I don't see him around, and then again, there's not a small

ounce of proof of the events that took place here.

I'm holding back the urge to scream or cry for the sake of appearing calm. I take a few breaths and decide I really need my chocolate ice cream. I need my comfort food. With a slight pout,

I march into the kitchen, pushing the door open. I freeze at the sight I'm greeted with. Malik is leaning back against the kitchen counter, drinking coffee in his seductive manner again, his

tongue slowly outlining his lips, licking up the remnants of the dark drink. He doesn't seem to register my presence, or maybe he just doesn't care. I make no attempt to announce myself

to him, but I can't help wondering if he knows or not. No way I'm going to inform him. From the looks of it, he seems completely out of it, lost in his own little world. I wish I could pick his

brain, find out what he's thinking while he silently drinks his coffee.

I quietly walk to the freezer, still trying to remain inconspicuous as I pull the door open, my eyes scanning around for the chocolate ice cream. I am slightly startled as I hear the kitchen

door open, admitting my yami in. Bakura casually strolls inside, hopping up on the kitchen counter, sitting on it and nodding a greeting to Malik. I choose to keep my mouth shut, pulling

out the carton of ice cream, debating on whether to eat out of it or use a bowl. My yami's voice snaps me out of my internal conflict, and I look up at him uncomprehendingly, wondering

what he just asked me, or if he even asked me anything at all.

"Huh?" Great. I sound like a brainless idiot in front of Malik. I resist the urge to glance at him, but I could some how feel his eyes on me. I'm trying my hardest not to shiver at that.

"I asked you what the hell did you do all day?" Bakura repeated, narrowing his eyes at me. I bite my lip, knowing my entire body is flushing as I recall my day. 'Oh, nothing, Yami. I just

woke up, ate breakfast, jacked Malik off in his sleep, came in my pants, ran up the stairs and changed. You know, the usual.' "Not much," I say queitly, hoping he'd just leave me alone

about it. Luckily, he does leave me alone and turns to Malik, raising an eyebrow at him. "What are you smirking about?" He asks Malik, who, to my surprise, is smirking. He looks at me and

throws me a wink, repeating my words. "Not much."

My mouth goes completely dry, understanding completely. How could I miss that look in his eyes? It takes me a few seconds to make the connection before I find myself shrieking, "You

were awake!"

The smirk is still present on his face, and he says nothing, taking another casual sip of his coffee. I'm dumbfounded. What does this mean? Did he like it? Why didn't he stop me? Was he

awake the whole time? Why isn't he saying anything? My mind is thrown into a frenzy, but I shove away all torrential thought as Bakura looks back and forth between Malik and I. "What

the fuck is going on between you two?"

Malik licks the coffee off his lips and shrugs, sauntering off towards the living room, looking over his shoulder and saying, "Ryou's not as innocent as he seems." With that, he

dissappeared into the living room, leaving me standing there, flapping my mouth open and closed unable to produce sound. Bakura just snorted and said, "I could have told you that"

before following him to the living room.

I remain frozen in my spot, my mind trying to get a firm grasp on this recent turn of events. I don't see that happening anytime soon. The question still lingers in my mind: Does Malik like

me back? He didn't seem to object. He did look happy. Maybe some day I'll find out...I hope.

This is not the end; I plan on making a sequel ^ ^ Stay tunded and tell me if I should really bother with writing the second part.


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